


Matelotage

by owlaholic68



Category: Monster of the Week (Tabletop RPG), Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Canon-Typical Violence, Everyone Is Gay, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pirates, Sirens, Slow Burn, Swearing, nsfw in separate chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25450945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: James falls for the ocean's most hellish pirate captain.
Relationships: James/Jacques, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. First Impressions

James wakes up in a bed and has no idea where he is.

Huh. A bed? Odd.

Last thing he remembers is being stuck in the brig of that awful Navy ship, chained to a wall and having a bad panic attack while fighting, screaming, and gunshots had echoed overhead. Pirates, someone had yelled. There had been crashing sounds, doors being kicked down in the lower section, the smell of smoke. They had gotten closer and closer and closer to James and he had started breathing more and more and more quickly and then the door to the brig had burst open-

And he’d passed out, apparently. He’d faintly heard someone yelling for their captain.

Now he’s here in a very plush bed with a cool wet rag draped across his forehead?

He hears a door open and stays very still, eyes still closed. Maybe if they think he’s unconscious…

“Sir,” a male voice says. “Reporting on the rest of the prisoners. Only two have agreed to join us, the rest just spit on the floor when I asked.”

There is a long silence.

“Did you find his _fucking_ keys yet?” Someone growls. Sitting at James’ bedside. His voice dark and strongly accented. French, maybe. “I sent you out to do that fucking _forever_ ago, Marcel.”

“But Captain-”

“Shut up,” the captain snaps. “Out. Now. Go find them or you’ll join those Navy lobsters.”

“Captain-”

“Now, Marcel!”

James flinches at the abrupt change in tone. He hates when people yell or raise their voice like that.

Shit. He was supposed to be pretending to be out of it. James cracks an eye open to see the captain staring down at him thoughtfully. He doesn’t get much of a look, however, since the captain turns back to his unfortunate crewmember and growls something before slamming the door behind him.

Leaving James alone with this mercurial captain.

“How are you fucking feeling?” The captain quietly asks. The set of his shoulders seems tense. Uncomfortable. He’s not looking at James.

James tries to sit up but – oh. They needed to find the keys to _his_ chains, which they apparently just ripped off the wall mounts of the brig but were still attached to his wrists.

The captain awkwardly comes over a bit too fast to help him sit up and prop him on some comfy pillows. Pillows that look suspiciously like the ones in the Navy captain’s cabin, come to think of it…

“Why the _fuck_ were you chained up in the brig of a Navy tugboat?” The captain asks. “You a fucking criminal or some shit?”

James tries to talk but only coughs. He shakes his head no. No, he didn’t even do anything wrong and he – he doesn’t know why the Navy decided to pick on him for no reason and – and his mother must be so worried, she hasn’t heard from him in months-

“Oh shit.” The captain stands and backs up when James bursts into quiet sobs. “Fuck, uh, don’t cry. It’s okay if you’re a criminal, we’re pirates for hell’s sake!” He paces for a moment. Apparently he’s never had to deal with a crybaby like James before. “Uh, shit.” He leaves the room, taking care to quietly close the door behind him instead of slamming it.

Great, James has made the captain so uncomfortable that he just up and leaves.

It does give him an opportunity to look around this room. Most of the room is taken up by a huge table in the center with maps, charts, and navigation tools spread out on it. The corner he’s in has a small but comfortable bed that is mostly bare except for the furnishings that seem to have been stolen from the Navy ship. Did the captain just…not have any bedding on it before? How does he sleep?

Next to the bed are a few waterproof chests. Some locked, some not. One is open and has a few books and articles of clothing inside. A plain shirt, pair of pants, and vest are laid out over the lid. A sword is leaning on the chest, but it’s the only visible weapon in the room.

The investigation helps calm his panic and James can finally think with a clear head.

He’s on a pirate ship, one powerful enough to take down a huge well-armed Navy ship with relative ease. The captain was apparently willing to spare some of the Navy crew if they agreed to work for him, which is…remarkably merciful for pirates. Or maybe he was just desperate for crew members. Either way, he probably wasn’t going to immediately kill James. If he was, he wouldn’t have taken the trouble to put him up in his bed.

Still, the captain seemed rough to deal with, putting it lightly.

Speaking of…

“Uh, are you done crying? I got you some water.” The captain slips back into the room with a glass of water. He starts to hand it to James but remembers the chains and holds to his lips instead.

While James drinks, he gets a chance to get a good look at the captain. Short and stocky, face chubby like he’d never lost his baby fat. Slightly tan skin littered with freckles, especially on his perky nose and ruddy cheeks. He’s wearing thick glasses that amplify the piercing blue of his eyes. His curly red hair is fighting to escape a short ponytail. It’s winning the fight. The captain has thrown a hat on to try to contain it, but that’s not having any luck either.

James finishes drinking the glass of water. He feels less on the brink of death now; it’s surely been a few days since he had more than a few drops to drink. He clears his throat. “Th-Thank you, captain.”

“So you can talk,” the captain muses. He pulls up a roughhewn chair and sits a few feet away. “How you feeling? You got a name?”

“My – my name is James, captain. And I – I’m feeling fine, thank you.”

The captain raises an eyebrow. “You don’t have to be so fuckin’ polite. And you don’t have to call me captain. I have a name and you can fuckin’ call me that. It’s Jacques. Or Captain Jacques if you want to be all fancy about it.”

“Okay. Okay, um, J-Jacques.” James shifts on the bed. “What are you going to do with me?”

“That depends. What can you do? You good at any shit besides lookin’ pretty?”

Tears spring to James’ eyes at the rough way of asking.

Jacques stands and frantically waves his hands. “Fuck no, no, don’t start cryin’ again when you just stopped. Sorry for being so rude or whatever. You don’t have to answer, it’s fine. You don’t have to do nothin’, you just talk real fuckin’ smart and I thought you might want a job, that’s all.”

Wow, all that just because James’ sniffled a bit? Maybe the captain’s a bit softer than James had thought.

“I – I have a degree in mathematics and history,” James says when Jacques has finished trying to placate him. “I can write letters and keep ledgers. I – I was going to apprentice in a merchant guild, or at least that was my plan before, um, the Navy…”

He trails off and Jacques doesn’t ask, only raises an eyebrow. “Do you know navigation shit?”

“Only the – only the basics, but I can learn.”

“Hm. Only the basics. Probably fuckin’ better than anyone else here. We’re lost as hell, you know. Came across that Navy doxie by accident. We’ve stolen their maps and notes to try to get an inkling of where the fuck we are but can’t make heads or arse of it.”

James nods and swallows hard. “I can try my best, sir. Captain. Jacques. Sorry, s-sorry...” He tears up again and quickly turns his face away.

Jacques sighs and shifts from the chair to sit on the bed next to James. Their hips nearly touching. Jacques gently cups his chin and turns his face, brushing away a few tears with his thumb. “Shh, shh, are you sure you’re alright? We’re not going to hurt you. The worst that will happen to you, James darling, is that we’ll drop you off at the next port with as much gold as you need to get home. And that’s only if you hate it here and want to leave. I promise, sweetheart, I promise. It’ll be okay.”

For all his roughness, he can be awfully gentle and sweet when he wants to be. James leans into his touch despite his misgivings. Something about Jacques’ voice is oddly calming too when it’s soft like this, like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

“Everything will be okay,” Jacques continues to soothe. “You can sleep up here in my bed. Goodness knows I barely use it anyways. And we’ll get you better clothing, something more suited to seafaring. New boots, too. And a proper hat, James, because you look like you’ll burn in a matter of minutes in the sun and we can’t be having that, can we?” He gently smiles. James can’t help but smile too, tears gone.

The door abruptly opens. “Captain-”

Jacques’ smile drops into a snarl. He jerks away from James and whirls on Marcel, who looks like he regrets not knocking. _“What?”_

“K-Keys, sir! I’m sorry, sir!” Marcel squeaks, tosses a ring of keys on the bed, and flees.

“Fucking finally,” Jacques mutters to himself. His soothing mood has disappeared, replaced by that tense awkwardness. Jacques’ ears and cheeks are burning bright red and he’s avoiding eye contact with James while he unlocks his chains.

James rubs his wrists. “Thank you, J-Jacques.”

“Hm.” Jacques stiffly stands. “Clothes on the chest are for you. You should start looking at those maps. I’ll leave you to it.”

He makes a swift exit. James dresses in the slightly ill-fitting clothing (pants too short, shirt too loose) and starts deciphering their position. Jacques only comes back to give him a bowl of stew and check his progress. James has figured out roughly where they are, give or take a few miles. Jacques seems displeased with their position. They are obviously _way_ off intended course, but he only purses his lips and leaves to bark orders to the coxswain.

James is left alone for the rest of the day. He organizes the maps and charts and while organizing, finds a handy book of navigation tips. The rest of his evening is spent poring over that, taking notes on a scrap piece of parchment he’d found.

The captain never comes back. James starts to feel bad: is he keeping Jacques from sleeping by taking up his bed?

Hours after nightfall, Jacques still hasn’t returned. James fights back yawns and peeks out the small circular window to the deck. He sees a few lanterns and crewmembers going back and forth tending to ropes and sails. A silhouette up by the steering wheel resembles Jacques.

He tries the door and finds it unlocked. But is he allowed to go on deck? Jacques hadn’t said that he could, but he also hadn’t said that he _couldn’t._ And he seemed to have a bit of a soft spot for James, so if it was bad maybe he wouldn’t get in a lot of trouble for it…

A blast of freezing cold air gusts in when he opens the door. James quickly slips out and closes it behind him to keep the cabin cozy warm. He makes his way up to Jacques, teeth chattering and bare ankles turning to ice, or at least that’s what it feels like.

Jacques turns with a curious eyebrow. “Hm. Thought you would have been asleep. Need something?”

“N-No, I – I just-” James pauses to shiver as a gust of wind blows right through him.

“Fuck me, you’ll get hypothermia at this rate, the way you’re acting.” Jacques shrugs off his long captain’s coat and tosses it to James. “Put that on. It’s not even that cold.”

“Th-thank you, captain. I get chills easily. Something genetic, my mother said. Awful genetics.” He puts on the jacket and immediately feels warmer. It smells faintly of smoke and blood, but not in a sickening way.

“Fuckin’ wonderful, don’t know what that word means. Why the fuck you out here, then?”

“I – I just, it’s late and – and I didn’t want to be keeping you from bed. I can sleep on the floor if you want, it’s not a big deal-”

Jacques holds up a hand for him to stop. He rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. Really. I don’t need to sleep. It’s a long story that I will tell you _in the morning._ Go to bed, James. Don’t worry about it.”

“B-But-”

“Go to bed. I mean it. Go on now.” Jacques waves his hands. “Go or I’ll fuckin’ drag you there myself. You need the rest.”

Something about him trying to shoo James to bed like a frustrated father makes him smile. “Yes, Jacques. Good night.”

He goes back to the room and lays down in bed, still wrapped in Jacques’ cozy coat. He falls asleep as soon as his head touches the soft pillow.


	2. Rages and Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for blood and Jacques beating the shit out of someone.

Five uneventful days pass on the open ocean.

Jacques never does explain why he doesn’t sleep, but he also never seems to show fatigue. He introduces James to his small crew and starts teaching him the basics of ship management. James learns ropes, sails, cannons. Food and supply levels. How to keep morale up (which Jacques doesn’t do).

Speaking of morale…

“What were you fuckin’ doing, jerking off at the wheel?” Jacques screeches to the poor coxswain, a middle-aged balding man named Matthew. “We were already off-course and now I’ve been informed that we’re off _again?”_

Matthew sputters, face red with anger. “Captain-”

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear your pathetic excuses! Last time you blamed it on navigation and I believed you, but this time I’m not going to eat that shit, understand? James here had us _back_ on track until Elisa got sick and we had to sub you in. Then, for some fuckin’ _mysterious_ reason, we’re off again. Do you _ever_ want to get back to port?”

“Captain-”

“Don’t you fuckin’ interrupt me again,” Jacques snarls. “I should have marooned you weeks ago, swab-sucker.”

James whimpers, standing a little distance away. He’d followed Jacques after he’d flown into a rage at his news that they were off-course again. He does _not_ like that tone of voice. Not that he likes yelling either, but this darker thing that Jacques does is even more frightening.

Matthew’s face contorts into fury too. “Marooned? I would like to see you try, _sir.”_ He reaches out and shoves Jacques.

Jacques is on him immediately, tackling him to the ground and pummeling him _hard_ with his fists. Something cracks and suddenly there’s blood on the deck. The rest of the crew, watching, has backed up. Some of them look pale. A few are even covering their eyes.

He’s going to _kill_ his crewman, James realizes with horror. He’s done this before. And nobody is brave enough to stop him.

Well, James isn’t brave, but he’s also not able to stomach seeing someone murdered in front of him.

“J-Jacques, stop it!” He rushes in and grabs Jacques. Tries to pull him away but damn, Jacques is _strong._ “Stop it, p-please, he – he’s had enough!”

Jacques nearly elbows him in the face but stops when he realizes it’s James. He gives Matthew one last hit to the nose, resulting in an awful crunching sound and more blood. But then he lets himself be pulled away.

“You shouldn’t have stopped me,” he growls, shaking out his bloody fist. “He got what he deserved.”

Matthew, on the ground still, looks like he’s gotten far more than he deserved.

James gets in between them, putting himself in Jacques’ face and making sure Jacques sees his tears. “Mercy, p-please,” he whispers so only Jacques can hear. “He got the message. They all did. Just – just make him scrub the deck for the rest of the week or – or something, J-Jacques, please.” When Jacques still seems unconvinced, James gently touches Jacques’ cheek. “For me?”

Jacques reaches up and cradles James’ hand on his cheek. He sighs and some of the murderous rage drains from his eyes. “Fine. For you.” He gently guides James to the side so he can address Matthew, who doesn’t look like he’s getting up anytime soon. The rest of the crew is watching, resigned despair turning to curiosity and perhaps a bit of hope.

“You’re lower than a spineless bug and you do not fucking _deserve_ to stand up,” Jacques starts, stance and tone dark but calm. “You’re holystoning until we get to port. When you eventually finish the deck, it’ll be time for you to do it again. I suppose you may break to fetch food and water but you are to consume it on the floor. And if you _dare_ strike me again, I will not show such mercy a second time.”

“Yes, Captain,” Matthew seems cowed. Probably wondering how he got so lucky as to receive _any_ mercy.

“Good. Someone bring me Elisa. I’m afraid we’ll need her up on duty again if we’re to reach port within the next fucking month.”

One of the crewmembers barks an affirmative and scurries off. They come back with a lass who would be perky if she wasn’t sniffling and sneezing. Red-cheeked with a slight fever. She’s young but clever, James remembers. A good head on her shoulders despite her inexperience relative to the rest of the crew.

Jacques takes one of her hands and closes his eyes. He’s focusing on something, but James can’t tell what it is.

Elisa perks up. Her redness fades and her nose dries up, her breathing changing from wheezy to normal. Like five days of healing condensed into one minute. “Thank you, captain.”

“Don’t fuckin’ mention it. I need you to correct us. Hard due east and _stay_ that way until James has an accurate reading of our position. Go on now, you can rest all you want when we get in sight of port.”

She nods and hurries up to her station. James and Jacques go back into the captain’s quarters to redo all the navigation calculations, now that they know their previous heading was messed up. They work in silence for several minutes.

“James.” Jacques looks up and steps a bit closer to him. “I want to talk about something.”

James sets aside his pen. It’s hard to make eye contact with Jacques after his rage. “Yes?”

“Thank you for stopping me.” Jacques heavily sighs. “The last thing I need to do is make a fuckin’ habit of killing crew. I’m having a hard enough time finding any to begin with. So, thanks, I guess. Sorry I yelled.”

“I – I don’t like yelling,” James stammers. He blinks back a few tears at the thought of it. “I – I just don’t like it. It scares me.”

“I’ll try my best not to yell. But no promises, I’m not good at that.”

“Thank you.” James idly messes with his pen, twirling it around and smearing ink across his fingers.

Jacques goes back to squinting at the maps, having decided the conversation was over.

“J-Jacques?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t look up.

“Why don’t you sleep or eat?”

Jacques freezes. He keeps staring down at the table. “Um. You promise not to, like, fuckin’ freak out and jump off the ship?”

That is _not_ a good start to his answer. James sets down the pen again, overcome by a sudden burst of anxiety that makes him bite his fingernails. Damn, he hasn’t done that since he was a kid. “Um, no – no promises?”

“I’m not human. I’m a demon, James.”

James wants badly to say something. _Is this a joke?_ Is the first thought on his mind. He opens his mouth but only manages a squeak.

At his silence, Jacques turns with a frown. “James? Fuckin’ talk to me, you’re freaking out.” He takes a step forward.

Easily startled, James springs into action and sprints out the cabin door.

“James!” Jacques tries to grab his arm but is no match for a panicked James’ speed. “Hey, no, wait-”

Too late. James is out on deck. He circles the cabin and jams himself between some barrels and boxes, under a few coils of stacked rope. He’s always gravitated to small spaces in moments of panic: feeling enclosed comforts him.

“James, _James!?”_ Jacques runs out after him and frantically looks around. He calls his name a few more times and runs right past him at one point. Eventually he gives up and tersely asks a few crewmembers to alert him if they see James. But he does give a few glances off the side of the ship like he really thought that maybe James _did_ jump off.

What a thought… Once the coast is clear and Jacques is back belowdecks, James curls up and has a panic attack that has been building up for days – this is what happens when he’s so calm all the time, the dam bursts all at once. He cries about the whole hellish Navy experience, his initial fear at waking up on this ship, his horror that Jacques nearly killed someone earlier that same day, and then that – that he’s a _demon_ and it’s all too much, too much…

* * *

He emerges hours later when it starts raining. Forced back inside when the downpour makes him shiver.

The lights are still on in the captain’s quarters. James hesitates, but it’s a small ship. He can’t avoid Jacques forever.

Jacques’ head snaps up when James enters. He bites his lip and looks down to the side. Tosses a blanket at James. “You look like you’re fuckin’ freezing. You okay?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Good.” Jacques sighs. “We’re back on course. Go to sleep.”

James nods. Jacques sighs again and bites his lip. He brushes past James and out into the soggy night. As usual, he doesn’t come back in that night. After all, he doesn’t need to sleep.

They avoid each other for the next week until land is spotted. It’s a miserable week.


	3. Confessions and Commerce

Land is spotted. They’re a day out from port.

James wakes the next morning to a bundle on his bedside table. A pouch and a note.

He picks up the pouch first. It’s heavy and clinks. Money, a lot of it. Now for the note. It’s from Jacques, of course, and it simply states that the money is for James to secure passage back home once they reach port.

This will be his last day here.

The thought should bring him relief, but instead it makes him start crying and – and he tries to stop because he should be _happy_ to leave, but instead he – he can’t stop crying because the thought of leaving is making him uncontrollably distressed. He crumples up the note and tosses it. Unsatisfied with the weak way the paper falls to the floor, James throws the bag of money too. It makes a better jangling _thunk_ on the wood.

He should get up to tidy his calculation equipment and keep his navigation routine, but James couldn’t care right now. His stomach is churning so badly that the idea of breakfast is far from his mind. He curls back up under his blankets and sobs into his pillow, confused and despondent.

The sun is high in the sky when footsteps, clicking in the way that Jacques’ sharp boots do, pass by the door to the cabin. They pause. Listening.

“J-Jacques?” James doesn’t care that he’s a demon or whatever. He needs…something. He needs someone right now.

A long pause before Jacques cracks open the door. The captain keeps his eyes down, stiff and awkward. “Did you need something?”

James nods. He scrubs his raw wet cheeks. He’s feeling overwrought and his mother always said he had a flair for the overdramatic and he feels like _shit._ “C-Come in, please. I – I just want to talk.”

“Fine.” Jacques fully slips inside, closing the door behind him. He stays there, arms crossed, reluctant to approach. “What do you want to fuckin’ talk about? I thought my note was clear.”

Does Jacques really just want James _gone?_ He wants him off his ship that badly? Tears that had stopped come back. James buries his face in his hands.

Jacques sighs. “Fuckin’ crying again… Sorry. I’ll come back later.”

“N-No, stay.” James pats the bed next to him. “Sit. I – I’ll do this now.”

“You’re upset.”

“Of – of course I am! That – that doesn’t, oh I don’t know, just sit – just sit down, Jacques, please. I – I don’t want to put this off.”

Jacques warily approaches and sits on the end of the bed. “Stop crying. I don’t want you in waterworks all the damn time. It – it’s fuckin’ annoying, is what it is.”

He’s still too far away, damn it. James scoots down the bed until he’s right next to Jacques, who has tensed up and looks like he’s ready to bolt.

James puts his arms around Jacques and wraps him in a hug. “I – I don’t wanna leave,” he sobs into Jacques’ shoulder. “I want to – to stay, Jacques, please.”

“Oh James…” Jacques hugs him back. Tight and strong, pulling James closer than seems physically possible. He puts a hand on the back of James’ head and strokes his hair. “Shh, shh, don’t cry, it’s okay. I want you to stay, James darling, I want you to stay here. Fuck, please stay. You don’t have to fuckin’ cry about it, shh…”

“I – I’ll stay.” James rests his head on Jacques’ shoulder. “I’ll stay.”

“Good, good. Just don’t keep fuckin’ boohooing on me, okay?” Jacques presses a kiss to James’ forehead. “You’re too pretty to be bawlin’ like this, sweet pea. You have such a handsome smile and I’ll do _anything_ to see it every day, James, I mean it. So just tell me what the fuck you want and I’ll get it for you and all you gotta do is smile, okay?”

James wetly laughs. Jacques normally is so rough, but sometimes he gets gooey sweet, just for James. Just to cheer him up. “O-Okay. I’ll try.”

“Yes, perfect. Like that.” Jacques continues to hug and comfort him until James finally decides he’s calm enough to pull away and scoot out of Jacques’ lap, which he somehow ended up in.

“Thank you,” he whispers, feeling too vulnerable to raise his voice above that. “I’d be thrilled to stay and be a part of your crew.”

Jacques gives him another peck on the forehead before standing. He keeps his hand resting on James’ shoulder. “Good. You’re officially hired as ship’s navigator, then. I’ll go fetch you some water and maybe a bit of lunch, if you feel up to eating?”

He brings back a heaping plateful of food and a steaming mug of tea. James has managed to get up and dressed, tidying up the things that he’d thrown. He gratefully takes the food and hands Jacques the heavy pouch of money.

Jacques furrows his brow and hands it back. “No, it’s for you.”

“I don’t need it. I – I’m staying, Jacques, I don’t need it.”

“No, no, consider it your first payment. We’d still be drifting at sea and probably fuckin’ starved to death without you. We can negotiate formal distribution of loot later, but this should be enough for now.”

James decides to argue it later and enjoys his lunch while they go the last few miles into port.

* * *

Port Maben is bustling and loud and there are people shouting and swearing across the docks and James already feels overwhelmed.

Jacques has gotten better at sensing his unease. Before James has a chance to actually freak out, Jacques ushers him belowdecks while Jacques and the rest of the crew handle the docking procedures. Only once everything is taken care of does Jacques come back down to fetch him.

“We need to go shopping,” he says to coax James out. “We’ll be off the main street in a minute: I gotta go to fuckin’ back alley places anyways. Come on.”

James shakes his head. “D-Don’t need to buy anything.”

“Yes you do, don’t start that shit. You need new clothing, you can’t keep wearing mine. You’re too much of a beanstalk for that.” Seeing his continued reluctance, Jacques sighs. “I’ll get you a new coat.”

Tempting.

“Fur-lined,” Jacques coos. “Waterproof, too.”

“Fine, fine, you’ve convinced me.” James takes Jacques’ arm and sticks to his side as they disembark onto the hectic docks.

Jacques weaves them in between carts and horses and into an alley. Then into another alley, through another, and onto a small street lined with shops and bars. The barkeepers are taking chairs down from tables and cleaning in preparation for a rowdy night. The shopkeepers look bored: must have been a slow day.

They stop by a general store where Jacques orders some fresh produce. And coffee, lots of coffee.

Then a brief argument when Jacques tries to take him into an _expensive_ clothing shop. Everything custom-made, that kind of place. James manages to swing them into a mid-tier shop for his basics and promises that they’ll get the coat custom.

Jacques insists upon helping him shop for some reason. “You need more socks,” he comments.

“Four pair isn’t enough?”

“No. They’ll get soggy as-” Jacques glances at the elderly shopkeeper and changes what he was going to say, “-as moldy cabbage. Get another three pair.”

James shrugs. Jacques’ the sailor, not him. “Sure. Any other fun tips?”

“You look nice in blue.”

“Okay, thanks. I meant _useful_ advice.”

Jacques pouts. “Fuck you, that’s useful!”

James pats his arm. “If you say so.” Just to spite Jacques, he doesn’t buy anything blue. Jacques is in full pout mode by the time they go to get James measured for his new fancy coat.

“This better be fuckin’ blue or I’ll have a goddamn fit,” Jacques mutters. “I’m serious, James, I’ll fucking lose my shit if this damn coat isn’t blue.”

“Why?” James puts on his most innocent face. “Do you like blue, or something?”

Jacques only growls in response.

James has mercy and stops teasing him. The coat will be a rich navy blue with red lining (to match Jacques’ jacket) with silver buttons and trim. It will be insulated with warm fur and will have a detachable hood. The whole thing will be waterproof to ward off the stormy nights. Jacques insists upon paying.

The whole affair makes James hungry. He makes Jacques stop for lunch and then they head to “more boring” errands, as Jacques puts it. Supply requisitions, paperwork, the like.

They’re heading from one supply shop to the next when James sees a bookshop.

Not just any bookshop: a _used_ bookshop. It’s two stories tall. The windows are stuffed with books, which means the inside is probably as full.

“James?”

He startles, not realizing that Jacques had continued walking without him. “Oh, uh, s-sorry.” He trots to catch up.

“Did you want to go in there?” Jacques takes his arm as they weave through an area that is beginning to become crowded with bar patrons. “We have time.”

“No, I don’t want to interrupt your errands. It – it’s not a big deal, Jacques, really.”

Jacques squints at him, then turns away with a huff. “Fine. If you say so.”

But the memory of that wonderfully dusty-looking bookstore haunts James the rest of the night, keeping him distracted and barely attentive to Jacques and to their tasks.

* * *

The next morning brings more errands, more mundane shopping.

Jacques also introduces him to people, important people. Supply managers, dock inspectors, bar owners. It’s odd to be introduced like this: those people are surprisingly respectful and treat James like royalty, almost. Like they are afraid of offending him because he’s one of the rare people who Jacques actually seems to _like_.

It also helps that he gets his new coat after lunch and it looks very sharp on him. James would have thought that it was average, never being one to overexaggerate his good looks, but Jacques’ reaction would have him thinking otherwise.

The reaction being that Jacques immediately blushes and looks away as soon as he puts it on.

James smooths his hands over the crisp lapels. “What? Is it bad?”

“No!” Jacques sounds choked up. He folds his arms over his chest defensively. “It’s fuckin’ perfect. You – you look…good, I guess. I told you that blue suits you.”

His awkwardness makes James smile. He reaches out and tweaks the cuff of Jacques’ coat, which is the reverse coloring: crimson red outside with navy blue lining. “It matches yours.”

Jacques’ blush deepens until his whole face, ears, and neck are bright red. “Yeah, I guess it does.” He clears his throat. “Anyways, let’s go. We’ve got places to be.”

“Lead the way.” James, buoyed by the confidence of such a comfortable and stylish coat, takes Jacques’ arm like a proper gentleman. He holds his head high the rest of the day.


	4. Sirens and Storms

They stay another day. Jacques has to connect with some influential people who were rumored to have jobs for him.

“Influential people,” Jacques comments as he leads James along the quiet foggy morning streets of Port Maben. “Influential and dangerous. You won’t be going with me. I’ll drop you off somewhere and fetch you afterwards.”

James frowns. “Don’t treat me like a child, Jacques.”

“I’m not fuckin’ doing that, James darling. It, it’s just…” Jacques trails off and stops walking. He turns so he can face James. “I don’t want these people knowing your face. Or your name, or your scent, or _anything_ about you. When I say _dangerous_ , I fucking mean it, okay? You have to trust me on this.”

“Fine.” James sighs. He supposes that if a demon says something is dangerous, then it is. “Where am I waiting?”

Jacques’ serious expression breaks into a smile. “That’s the fun part. Come along, now.”

He leads James-

To that wonderful used bookstore.

James feels like his heart is going to burst with excitement. “Oh.”

“Don’t you think I’ve haven’t been seeing you fuckin’ eyeing this place every time we’ve walked by. You think you can spend a few hours in here?”

“Easily.”

Jacques has to touch his arm to regain his attention. “Stay here, then. I’ll come get you in a few hours, hopefully before lunch.”

James still feels so excited and surprised that all he can do is nod and smile. He boldly grabs Jacques’ hand and squeezes it, interlocking their fingers. “I’ll see you then.”

He lets go and goes into the bookstore.

A small bell jingles over the door as he enters. Oh heavens, it’s so packed full with tomes that James has to squeeze through stacks in order to make it to the counter. The shopkeeper, an elderly woman wearing an eyepatch and with her grey hair in two long braids, warmly greets him, sensing a fellow avid reader.

James has no problem spending literal hours in a bookshop like this. He starts in the nonfiction section then slowly works his way towards fictional books, amassing a considerable pile on the counter. Books on navigation, naval history, and map-reading are among his eclectic nonfiction pile. The fiction section is larger and more varied: James picks out poetry, adventure, romance, historical, and mystery novels – _lots_ of mystery novels.

Normally he’d balk at buying so many books at one time, but he’s starting from nothing. He’ll be on the open ocean for heaven-knows how long with no entertainment besides a mercurial captain. It would be nice to be able to sit back with a good book in the evening. A book and a cup of hot tea, gazing out at the dark ocean and feeling the damp salty breeze through his hair…

Someone clears their throat. James jumps.

Jacques is back. He gives a smile but it’s tense. “You ready?”

“Y-Yeah, I just have to pay. I’ll be ready in a minute. Everything okay?”

“We just have to head out port somewhat…quickly. One job is a bit more urgent than I had thought. We’ll need to leave tonight instead of tomorrow and even if we do well on speed, it’ll be cutting it close.”

James quickly pays, wincing at the price he’s accumulated before realizing that the pouch of money that Jacques had given him easily covers it, with plenty more to spare. The shopkeeper throws in a few waterproof storage bags for free.

Jacques carries one of the bags and James takes the other. Jacques’ mood is turning quickly from amused at James to snappy and stressed. James has to trot to keep up as Jacques hurries back to the ship and starts barking orders to the crew.

They immediately raise anchor. The crew scrambles to stow shipments of supplies that had been dumped on the deck minutes before. James quickly puts his bookbags on his bed and helps direct the crew, many of which were brand new, hired just that morning.

One large problem with Jacques’ attitude was that it was hard to retain crew, and harder still to recruit them. Many of the deckhands seem brand new to sailing, or at the very least this is their first time on a ship larger than a fishing boat. James is relatively new, too, but at least he knows how Jacques wants the ship organized.

Once they get out onto open waters, Jacques calls a meeting.

“Listen up because I’m not fucking telling you twice,” he barks. Looking very imposing in his sharp-cornered coat and dark hat. “Whatever the fuck I told you for pay, double that if you come out of this alive. Which you _will_ if you follow orders.”

There is a murmur of anxiety throughout the crew. James, standing to the side, frowns. Jacques is taking such an inexperienced crew into such a dangerous job?

“Our mission is to rescue a smuggling ship named _The Express._ She’s small and fast, but not great at combat. She is late to port and we have been hired to find her as the captain is notorious for maintaining a strict schedule. Unfortunately, the route they took lead them through siren territory. Which means that we are also very vulnerable. Nobody is immune to it, okay? So don’t start being a brave little shit who thinks they don’t need to protect themselves. That’s how you get yourself killed.”

A few of the crewmembers shiver. Elisa the coxswain, standing near James, crosses her arms and nods. She looks serious but not too scared; James knows that she’d been through a few tough spots with Jacques and had survived, presumably by not being stupid.

“Standard procedure is to stuff cotton in your ears. Starting at dusk tonight, we’ll be close enough to siren waters that that precaution will be necessary, especially while you sleep. Doors will be locked going up to the deck – if you are enthralled, it will be difficult enough to unlock that it will buy time for your fellows to restrain you. But there will be moments where their song is too loud and little fucking fluffs of cotton will not be enough to protect you. In that moment, I will tell you to cover your ears with your hands, _tightly,_ and you _must_ do so or you will _fucking_ die.”

Elisa raises her hand and waits for Jacques to call upon her. “Captain, what if we are holding onto something such as a rope? Or the wheel, in my case?”

“Good question. Drop it. Let go. I won’t give a shit if we get a bit off course or if we have to regain control of a rope as long as you’re alive. I would greatly _prefer_ that I get back to port with the same number of crew that I left with.” Jacques glares out at the very nervous crew. “Any other questions?”

Nobody says anything. Jacques nods.

“Good. Get back to fucking work.” He stalks off to his office.

James hesitates before deciding not to follow. Jacques seems to be in a foul mood. Instead, he takes down his basic celestial positioning and makes sure the crew are doing okay.

He visits the tiny kitchen and checks up on the chef, a practical older woman named Josephine, who has been on Jacques’ ship for nearly ten years, which makes James respect her immensely. The kitchen is precisely organized and warm, always home to the coziest smells.

“Sirens usually ain’t a big deal,” she comments while chopping potatoes for stew. “But there’s a nasty coven near here, and I’m assuming that’s the one we’re heading into. We normally try to avoid it, but we had to do something similar about five years ago.” She shivers. “The captain ordered me to lock myself in the pantry and I did it, thinkin’ I was a right coward to do it. But we lost, oh, probably three-quarters o’ the crew that night. And I weren’t one of them, all because I followed his orders even when I thought he was wrong. The rest of those fools didn’t, and they ain’t here anymore.” She dumps the potatoes in the broth and pats James’ arm. “So when he says you’ll be just fine if you obey him, he means it and he’s not tryin’ to be rough or mean.”

“Thank you, Josie. I know, I just don’t know how to tell the rest of the team that.” James sighs and starts clumsily peeling a handful of carrots that Josie presses into his hands. He nicks his fingers a few times. Mother never made him work in the kitchen and now James is seeing that he really needs to get down here more to practice. “I think they’re all afraid of him. Hopefully that means that they’ll follow directions, but you never know. I just hope they don’t panic.”

“Let’s hope so. Now run along, don’t you have navigation work to do?”

James smiles. “Yes, Josie. I’ll come back down to help more often. It’s so nice and warm down here.”

She laughs and shoos him out the door. “I’ll send some tea up tonight!” She calls after him.

“Thanks!”

He spots Jacques up on deck giving directions to Elisa. Jacques’ posture seems tense but not quite ready to snap.

Not yet.

* * *

Night falls and brings rain.

Worse than rain, in fact: thunder rumbles in the dark clouds above and flashes of lightning play on the horizon. The rain starts as a drizzle but escalates to a torrential cascade by the time James finishes dinner in his cabin.

Not that he can really hear it, though. When Jacques had brought supper to him, he’d also untucked a roll of cotton fluff from under his own coat. He’d torn off a few pieces and instructed James to stuff them inside his ears until he couldn’t hear Jacques speaking normally to him.

“Stay inside,” he’d ordered before leaving.

So James stays inside and feels useless. He can’t even do any navigation due to the heavy cloud cover and can only hope that Elisa is keeping them on course. He tries to read one of his new books but can’t make it more than a few pages in, distracted as he is with worry. He doesn’t undress to go to sleep, keeping even his coat and boots on.

Not that he can get any sleep despite trying. More thunder, then shouting on deck, then an unearthly wail that penetrates right through James’ protection and-

-And suddenly he’s at the door, trying the door handle to no avail. It’s locked from the outside. Right, Jacques said he was going to do that to all the doors in case – in case someone got enthralled and tried to leave.

James gasps and quickly backs away from the door, stuffing himself in a corner and putting his hands firmly over his ears. He just heard a siren and it called to him and he didn’t even _realize_ and if not for Jacques’ precautions, he would probably already be dead.

Another wail, this time muffled enough that James can resist. He stays where he is and tries not to cry.

As soon as that siren scream finishes, the door to the cabin bursts open.

“I need you _now!”_ Jacques rushes in, soaking wet. He pulls James up and hurries him outside.

“What’s going on?” James yells to be heard. The rain batters his new waterproof coat.

“Fuckin’ lost too many already!” Jacques takes him to the ropes for the mainsail. “Pull this in!”

James pulls the rope in – he’s done this a few times before, just never quite so urgently. The ropes keep slipping and he has to hold onto them much too tightly in order to keep his grip. He’s almost gotten the whole sail down, hands burning with blisters from the rough rope, when Jacques enters his sight.

Jacques mimes putting his hands over his ears. “Now!” He yells.

But the rope-

James jams the rope between his knees and covers his ears just in time for another piercing song. It feels like it’s shaking his whole body, making his chest ache.

It’s over in less than thirty seconds. James uncovers his ears and pulls the rest of the rope in, securing it and looking around for Jacques, who has gone somewhere else – probably the other side of the ship.

Another crack of thunder shakes the deck under his feet. James stumbles and turns-

-And sees someone climbing over the edge of the ship. Not a person, not entirely – part of them looks fishy but the other part looks like a wild woman with long tangled hair and sharp teeth in a mouth that opens wide to scream or sing-

James slams his hands over his ears just in time. The siren – for it is indeed a dreadful siren – shrilly sings just feet from him. He can’t hear it but he can feel it and it _hurts._ He quickly starts walking backwards, not daring to take his eyes from the siren to try to look for Jacques.

The siren follows, clambering over the railing and onto the deck, on all fours and _fast_ , fast enough that it easily catches James, grabbing his legs and _yanking._

“Jacques!” James screams and almost throws out his hands to catch himself before realizing how fatal a mistake that would be. He twists and lands hard on his shoulder, frantically kicking to try to dislodge the monster that is now pinning him down. “Jacques, help! _Help! Jacques!”_

He doesn’t know if he can be heard over the siren and the storm. All he can do is scream and fruitlessly struggle as the siren climbs on top of him, further trapping him.

It grabs his wrists and grins wide, awful sharp teeth glinting in the faint lanternlight. It easily pulls his hands from his ears.

“P-Please,” James begs. “I – I’m skinny and not even that tasty…”

“But you’re so _pretty,”_ it hisses, and leans in, its song warbling in the back of its throat.

A gunshot rings out and the siren recoils. It hisses and tries to drag James along with it, but another shot echoes in James’ ears.

The siren falls down with a bullet hole between its eyes.

“Are you okay?” Jacques kneels down and helps James sit up. “James, darling, fucking talk to me, are you okay? I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t hear you, darling, I couldn’t hear you and I’m so sorry…”

James sobs and clutches Jacques. He tries to talk, tries to stop shaking enough to form words, but he can only manage a nod.

Jacques picks him up and rushes him into the cabin. Sets him down on the bed and helps him take off his jacket, wrapping a warm blanket around his shoulders. “We’re through the worst of it, just relax, just relax,” he soothes. “Everything’s going to be okay, James. Don’t worry, don’t worry, you did wonderfully…” He fetches a rag and wipes James’ face. “Don’t fuckin’ cry, darling, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you, I’m sorry that I even fucking made you come out on deck. I _never_ should have put you in such danger. Never again, never _fucking_ again.”

His soothing makes James’ heartrate start to finally slow. He nods and takes Jacques’ hand, squeezing it.

“Can you be okay for an hour or so?” Jacques squeezes it back, bringing James’ hand to his lips and kissing it. “I need to make sure we’re okay, but we’re through the worst part now. I’ll come back soon, just sit here. Change into your nightclothes and I’ll be right back.”

James nods and reluctantly lets go of him. Jacques kisses him on the forehead before heading back out into the raging storm.

* * *

James hadn’t thought he could sleep after that traumatic experience, but he’s lightly dozing when Jacques comes back in.

“How are you feeling?” Jacques sits on the bed and puts James’ head in his lap, gently stroking his hair.

“I – I’m fine now, thank you.”

This coaxes a brief strained smile from Jacques. “Always so fucking polite. We can talk later. You need some sleep. Rest will help. I’ll be right here.”

James hums and is fast asleep in minutes, soothed by Jacques’ hand in his hair and the lull of the slowly calming ocean waves.


	5. Caresses and Kisses

The next morning brings the terrible news.

They had left port with twenty-five crewmembers. They will be returning with ten.

Jacques breaks the news solemnly then hugs James tightly when he starts inevitably crying. “Don’t cry, fuckin’ hate to see you cry,” he murmurs. “It’ll be okay, James, don’t you worry about anything. I’ll fix it, I’ll make everything okay, you hear? Just don’t cry. Fuck me, I would do _anything_ to make you happy. You know that, right? If there’s anything I can do to make you smile, to make you not be all upset like this, you tell me, okay?”

James nods, head buried in Jacques’ shoulder. Despite Jacques’ soothing, he continues to cry for another five minutes before his waterworks finally slow. He raises his head, scrubs his cheeks with the back of his hand, and pats Jacques’ shoulder.

Ow, his hands. He’d forgotten that he’d severely abused them last night working with the ropes.

Jacques frowns at his pained wince. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. I – I just forgot that I kind of hurt my hands a little last night.” James shows Jacques his hands. There are a few spots where the skin had broken, and his normally smooth baby-soft hands were littered with callouses. “It’s no big deal, don’t worry about it.”

“No, you should have told me.” Jacques looks…angry? His expression is dark and upset. He takes James’ hands in his own. “Let me heal you. Just a bit of magic, James. You won’t feel a thing.”

“Y-You really don’t have to-”

“Shut up,” Jacques snaps, then frowns. “No, don’t shut up. Forget that I said that, James, I’m fuckin’ sorry.” He sighs and closes his eyes, squeezing James’ hands. The scrapes and cuts heal, but his hands still look rough. Jacques sighs again, frustrated. He raises one of James’ palms and kisses it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“You don’t have to be sorry, it’s not your fault and it’s really not that important. Most sailors have rough hands, Jacques.”

“But not you!” Jacques growls. “Not you, James, not you. You’re different and you’re special and – and you are _precious_ to me, do you fucking _understand?_ It is unacceptable that you be in this condition, unacceptable! I will not tolerate it and I will fix it _immediately.”_

He stands and storms out of the room. Before James has time to panic, he comes back with a cup of tea and a bottle of something.

“Josephine gave me this to give to you,” he mutters, handing over the tea. “Let me see one of your hands.”

James takes the tea with his right hand and holds out his left. Jacques uncorks the bottle and pours a bit of the contents into his hand: olive oil from the kitchen. He sits on the bed across from James and gently cradles his left hand, turning it over to coat both sides of it in oil.

Oh. A hand massage. Despite the horrors of last night that still linger in the corners of his brain, James smiles and relaxes. He contently hums when Jacques starts massaging and squeezing his fingers, working his way from the pinky to the thumb. Then the back of his hand, Jacques digging his rough thumbs into just the right parts of his skin and muscles. He works on James’ wrist before flipping his hand over and getting to the palm where the damage was the worst.

By the time Jacques is finally done with his one hand, James feels like he’s transcended to a whole new world where it’s just him and Jacques. Jacques with his face warm and hands gentle, cheeks faintly tinted red and a ghost of a smile on his face. Jacques with the morning sun glinting off his glasses and sparkling over his blue eyes. Jacques who feels so close, almost too close.

“There,” Jacques whispers. He sets James’ hand down on his lap. “Give me the other one.”

“Yes, of – of course.” James, broken from his reverie, sets aside his cup of tea and gives Jacques his right hand.

Jacques takes the same extreme care with this hand too. James can only stare, heart helplessly attaching itself to this rough captain more and more with each passing second, with each time that Jacques digs into a terrible callous with the utmost concentration.

When he finishes with this hand, Jacques raises it to his mouth and kisses it – that seems to be his favorite thing, James absently notes with a smile. How sweet he can be when he tries. How romantic, how soft and thoughtful.

When Jacques lets go of his hand, James scoots closer, his sentimental heart aching for more affection. He cups Jacques’ chin in his palm and leans in-

Jacques honest-to-the-gods _squeaks_ when James kisses him. He grabs James by the waist and pulls him deeper. Other hand on the back of James’ neck.

Unfortunately, James is but a mortal human and must breathe. He reluctantly pulls back, arms now draped over Jacques’ shoulders. Through his fluttering eyelids he registers that Jacques’ gaze now could only be described as purely lustful.

“Oh James…” Jacques kisses him on the cheek, then neck. Still holding James overwhelmingly close, hands on his waist and hips and thighs and wherever else Jacques can find that will make James happy. “Oh James darling, sweetheart…My James, my James…” Repeating his name between kisses.

“Jacques, you are too sweet to me. You – you said you wanted to make me happy and you have, dear, you have.” James, now recovered, kisses him again.

They continue to go back and forth like this for minutes on end. Slow unhurried tender loving. Jacques seems content with exploring and letting James dictate the pace.

Of course, this wonderful moment couldn’t last forever. Someone on deck yells for Jacques.

Jacques sighs and pulls away, giving James one last kiss on the cheek. “Darling, I’m sorry. Someone needs me, as is usually the fucking case on this damn ship.”

“That’s fine.” James smiles and curls a lock of Jacques’ hair between his fingers. “I’ll be here when you return.”

“That might not be until nightfall. I’m sorry, James darling, I’m so fucking sorry. I have a lot of problems to take care of.”

“I know. I don’t mind, Jacques, really. Go now, go on.”

Jacques leaves after a few more lingering kisses and James half-heartedly complaining that he is insatiable and greedy.

James watches him go and feels that sundown is altogether too far away.

* * *

They don’t get more than a minute alone again until well after sundown.

Someone had yelled for Jacques because the other ship, _The Express,_ had been sighted. What followed was a full day of rescue from the tattered ship. They were able to repair the other ship enough for it to limp behind their own while they mostly towed it back to port.

 _The Express_ had fared even worse than them. Out of their twenty crew, they had three remaining, none of them officers. All were injured and traumatized.

James plots them a course around siren territory. It’ll take a day or two to return to port this way but it was safer and Jacques doesn’t seem to mind the delay. He gives a warm smile when James informs them of their new route and boldly runs his hand down James’ arm.

Alright, James supposes their relationship wasn’t going to be a total secret to the crew. Elisa, having thankfully survived the sirens and at her post mere feet away, gives them a raised eyebrow and then dutifully turns away.

Speaking of not a secret, James has a similar experience when he goes down to the kitchens to give Josephine her oil back.

“No, keep that,” she says. She gives a knowing wink. “You know what, let me get you a smaller bottle. Something that will be easier for you to open and use. More discreet.”

James frowns. “No, Josie, it’s fine – I really don’t need it and I don’t want to take your cooking oil.”

Her sly smile grows. “Oh kid, do you _really_ want a lecture from me about how you actually _do_ need it? I doubt the captain is that gentle that you can forgo it. It was real mature of him to run down here and grab some for you. I hope he made you very _happy_ last night.”

James pauses. Thinks about Josephine’s words. Blushes and buries his head in his hands. “Oh Josie, no, no! It wasn’t like that, I swear!” He holds out one of his hands. “He gave me a hand massage, that’s all! Nothing improper happened!”

She stops pouring oil into a smaller bottle and laughs. “So you two weren’t playin’ no games?”

Pirates have fifty words for loot and fifty more for sex. James doesn’t know all of them but knows this one. “No, ma’am, not at all!”

Josephine shakes her head with a fond smile. She finishes pouring some of the olive oil into a small bottle, corks it, and gives it to James. “Here, then for your…hand massages, as the kids are calling it these days.”

“Josie, I told you-”

“I know, kid, I’m just teasin’ you. Run along and do your work, now.”

He does so and it takes hours for his blush to fade. Jacques brings lunch to him and is waylaid from his own duties by the far more important task of kissing James.

“Tonight,” he whispers when someone calls for him on deck again. “Tonight, I promise.”

“Tonight,” James echoes, shooing Jacques out the door so he can attend to his work. James focuses on his own navigation work in bits and pieces, constantly getting up to look out at the crawling sun. He normally has the patience of a saint but not today, not when Jacques kept giving him the sultriest looks all day.

Like he longed for nothing more than to tear James’ clothes off at that very moment, damn the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be NSFW!


	6. NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!

Jacques returns as James is sitting with a cup of tea and a good book – a romance one this time, a bit steamier than James had originally realized.

“Darling, darling…” Jacques sits in James’ lap and sets aside his tea and book. He fists a hand in James’ hair and kisses him hard. Like he has been waiting all day for this and he can’t help himself. “James darling, I just want you to fuck me and I am _done_ being patient.”

James whimpers. Leans into Jacques’ hand where it’s on the front of his pants. “Patience – patience is certainly not one of your virtues,” he comments.

Jacques sighs between heavy kisses on James’ neck. “I can be patient if you want me to be patient. Whatever you want, James, whatever you want.”

“You don’t – you don’t have to be patient, dear, I’m all for this. But – but maybe a bed and not just on this chair?”

“Whatever you want,” Jacques echoes. He easily picks James up and tosses him on the plush bed so he’s propped up by pillows at the headboard. “Your wish is my command, James sweetheart. Clothes off?”

“Yes, good idea.” James removes his coat himself while Jacques impatiently fumbles with the buttons of his pants. It’s a little amusing to see such a confident and brash captain, such a powerful and dangerous demon, fumbling with nervousness and excitement. Jacques also can’t stop kissing him, so that doesn’t help his efforts.

But finally Jacques manages to get James’ pants off as well as his own. And – and James is helpless to do anything but groan and fist a hand in the soft bedsheets when Jacques’ hands are on him like this, when his mouth and his fingers are doing everything they can to make James make more noises, to make him the happiest man on this ship, on this ocean.

“J-Jacques, dear, if – if you keep going on like this, th-then-” James has to stop to bite his lip. Jacques just decided that hands were not enough and now he’s lowered his head to make use of his mouth instead. They may be indiscreet but James would rather not awaken the entire crew from the loud moan he almost lets out.

“Hm?” Jacques looks up, tongue sticking out flattened against James’ hyper-sensitive skin.

“I – I thought you w-wanted me-” He squeaks when Jacques swirls his tongue around like one would do to a cone of shaved ice. “W-Wanted me to-”

“Your mother raised a prude,” Jacques teases when he’s done physically teasing and torturing him: too much pleasure makes James’ poor head spin. “Yes, I would love for you to scuttle me, but we have all night, James darling. Don’t worry about it. Just sit back and let me treat you.”

James decides that he doesn’t mind and relaxes back into the cradle of pillows. “Alright, Jacques, if you don’t mind.”

The relaxation is gone the next moment when Jacques lowers his head again to get back to work. He takes James into his mouth, chubby cheeks looking even cuter like this, glasses fogging up and freckles popping against his flushed skin. He takes it slow and easy, lavishing James with unbearable amounts of attention.

He pauses. Doesn’t need to come up for air so he pushes even deeper until the head of James’ cock is down his throat proper. He looks up, crinkles his eyes in a smile, and takes James’ hand. Interlaces their fingers and pushes just a little deeper, gagging slightly.

James squeaks. He feels like he can’t breathe. Sensations are too much and he feels tears gather in the corners of his eyes that he can’t stop from falling as just that little push pushes him over. He arches his back, clenches his jaw as to not scream, and grips Jacques’ hand tightly as his lover chokes on the unexpectedness of him but swallows, finally pulling back to give him relief, lapping up any mess with his devilish tongue.

“Okay?” Jacques croaks, sitting up and brushing away the few tears on James’ cheeks.

“Y-Yeah,” James stammers.

Jacques frowns. “I overwhelmed you. I’m sorry.”

“It – it’s okay. I’m easily overwhelmed. It – it happens, dear, it happens. I’m fine.”

“If you insist.” Jacques kisses James. Slowly, carefully, trying not to be too much for him. “We’ve spoken about the waterworks, James. You know I don’t like it.”

“I know. But it’s just how I am. I’ll tell you if it really is too much or if something’s wrong. Trust me on that, okay?”

“Okay.” Jacques still seems upset about it, apparently not understanding that he just gave James the best experience he’s ever had.

James wants that little furrow between his brows to disappear, so he returns the favor to Jacques. Unhurried and gentle, curled up together with James slightly lower on the bed, legs intertwined and Jacques stroking his hair, other arm keeping him close. The fingers in his hair turn from gentle to demanding, fisted in his fair short hair at the base of James’ neck as Jacques snaps at him to stop teasing. But he quickly stops complaining when James buries his nose in the dark red hair at the base of his pelvis. Then there’s only little gasps and affirmations and enough of a warning that James can quickly pull back and use his hands to make Jacques swear loudly and slam a hand against the bedframe hard enough to crack it, harsh eyes closed in bliss.

His refractory period is much shorter than James; no sooner has he regained his breath than is he pulling James close again and swiftly changing their positions so that he’s straddling James’ delicate hips and hastily reaching for the small bottle of oil that Josie had given James earlier that day.

“Alright?” Jacques checks in again, frowning at James’ silence.

James nods. Yelps when Jacques forgoes any personal preparation and lowers himself down all the way so that James is fully sheathed in him. “Y-Yeah, I’m good.” He’s got that funny tight feeling in his chest again.

“Good.” Jacques starts slowly rocking, already recognizing that he just went too fast for James. “Shh, darling, breathe and take a moment. Let’s just fuckin' sit here for a second, okay?”

“O-Okay.” James wraps his arms around Jacques and kisses him.

Jacques pulls him so close that James can’t believe that they will become separate people after they part. They’re chest to chest, every inch of their bodies impossibly melded together, only broken for the briefest moment when Jacques starts bouncing on him.

Foreheads pressed together, Jacques thick glasses digging into James’ browbone. Jacques does an odd little trick where he drapes an arm around James’ neck and gets them so close that he can reach around to grab James’ hand where he’s wrapped his arm around Jacques’ shoulders. They hold hands, arms twisted in a pretzel that keeps them so close that James can feel Jacques’ heartbeat resonate in his own lungs, so close that the low groans in Jacques’ chest rumble up through his throat where he’s making choked-sounding squeaks every time Jacques bounces _just_ right.

“J-Jacques-” James’ whisper breaks into a gasp. Jacques has pulled them closer, leaned James back against the cracked bedframe, and somehow changed their position so that every movement is too much, too right, too wonderful.

He can’t manage any more words, just little squeals of pleasure muffled when Jacques shifts forward the half an inch needed to press a kiss to James’ lips.

“I love you,” he growls, rhythm turning supernaturally fast and perfect. “I love you, James, I love you. I love you, I love you _I love you I love you, love you loveyouloveyou!”_

He kisses James again because that ferociously passionate declaration is like a shove overboard and James cries out so loudly he’s _sure_ it must wake every person within ten miles of them. Jacques makes an oddly pitched rumbling gasp, bright blue eyes blown wide open and staring directly into James’, unable to break eye contact until they’re both completely spent.

James tries to speak but only whimpers. He pries his fingers apart from Jacques’ where they’re holding hands. Cradles Jacques’ too-close face and smiles even though he vaguely feels like crying again.

Jacques smiles that adoring smile and leans into James’ touch. He climbs off him so they can sit more comfortably. Always quick to recover, he leans over and fetch a canteen of fresh water for James, a clean scrap of fabric to wipe their bodies down.

Fresh water helps. The coolness clears James’ throat, helps him think like a person again. He yawns.

“Shit, I think I’ve exhausted you.” Jacques takes the canteen and lays James down with his head in Jacques’ lap. Holding hands again. Jacques presses kisses to James’ hand, wrist, up to his elbow. “Get some rest.”

“I love you too,” James says instead of a logical response. He pulls a blanket on top of himself to keep the biting ocean winds from his bare skin. “I do, Jacques, I do.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Jacques’ doting smile pushes James over his emotional edge. The smile drops. “James, no, I – I’m sorry, don’t cry.” He pulls James up so he can hug him and rub his back. “Don’t fucking cry, shh, it’s okay and I’m sorry I was too much again. I didn’t mean to, James, please. Just stop crying, stop fucking crying, please…”

“I – I’m sorry,” James sobs into Jacques’ shoulder. “I’m sorry that – that I’m like this and I – I can’t stop and I’m happy, Jacques, you – you’ve made me so happy but I – I still can’t stop-”

Jacques kisses his wet cheek. Presses their cheeks together and cradles James’ head. “I’m sorry,” he keeps quietly repeating. “I love you and I’m sorry and I love you so much and I – I’m so sorry, darling. Stop fucking crying, James, please, I’ll do anything if you’ll stop crying-”

“I _can’t!”_ James holds him even closer. “I’m trying, I’m always trying so hard but I – I can’t, Jacques, I’m sorry.”

“Then just sit here until you can. I’ve got all night.” Jacques’ voice deepens into what sounds like a demonic purr, a plea to the depths of Hell to grant his only wish. “I only want to make you happy. That’s all I want.”

James has no more words to explain that he is so extremely happy that’s it’s making him so incredibly upset. He lets Jacques cradle and comfort him until he finally calms enough to doze off in Jacques’ arms, and does not wake until after dawn.


	7. Frustration and Fights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight NSFW mention near the end.

Being Jacques’ lover makes things different.

Not _bad_ different, just _different_ different. There is a more intense energy when they’re in the same room. Eye contact suddenly becomes ten times more important. Jacques can’t keep his hands off James whenever they get even a minute alone together. He is a passionate lover: there is never a dip in his energy, never a lapse in his affection.

His demonic core means that he never tires. He always has magic to spend to please James, to warm him or cool him or heal him whenever Jacques’ teeth get too rough, whenever his fingers get too possessive.

It’s the possessiveness that starts their first fight.

“J-Just down the block,” James tries to reason for the third time in five minutes. “I’ll be with Elisa, Martin, and Saya the whole time. They say that the bar is perfectly safe. We – we’ll be back in an hour, two at the most.”

“Absolutely not,” Jacques argues. He’s angrily pouting, arms crossed against his chest. He leans in the doorway of the cabin blocking James’ exit. “Absolutely not, darling, no way in fucking Hell. We _just_ got back to port and I want to spend the night with you.”

“Well, I want to go out. I won’t be gone for that long, Jacques.”

“No.”

The last scraps of James’ long-fuse patience start to burn away. He turns away from Jacques and puts on his coat and hat. “L-Listen, Jacques, I’ll only be gone for an hour, okay?”

Jacques’ face reddens with frustration. “No, I _don’t_ want you going out!”

His voice raised near a shout. James flinches back, the burn of tears starting in the corners of his eyes. Jacques – Jacques just _yelled_ at him.

“Well, I don’t _have_ to listen to _you!_ And don’t you _dare_ yell at me like that again!”

Jacques goes as far as grabbing James’ arm when he tries to push by. “I don’t fucking want you to go! You’re _not_ going! You are not _fucking_ going!”

Still yelling. James’ patience ends and fury replaces it.

“I am not going to let you boss me around!” He yells back. “Don’t start with this, J-Jacques, don’t you – don’t you dare! I am going and it is my _own_ decision, not _yours!_ If you don’t like it, then – then shut up! I’m not going to bend to your little whims, e-especially not when you scream and swear at me!”

He shakes his arm loose from Jacques’ grip and shoulders past him, slamming the cabin door open and not caring who on deck sees their fight. The whole ship – no, the whole dock – would have heard it anyways. Jacques’ voice carries over water.

“I. Am. Going. Out,” he hisses to Jacques. “And when I come back, I do not want to speak to you. Not until you apologize for what you just did. Not – not until you apologize for yelling at me.” He angrily swipes at the tears on his cheeks. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”

Jacques’ face falls. He’s realized, too slow, that James is properly mad at him. Jacques grabs James’ elbow when he walks away. “James, no, please-”

“Don’t touch me!” James snaps, yanking his arm loose. He puts a hand on Jacques’ chest and gently shoves him back a step. “Don’t touch me and don’t follow me. I’ll be back in an hour. I – I expect you to think about what – what you’ve done. You’d better have a – have a damn good apology ready, Jacques.”

With that, he turns heel, pushing Jacques’ stricken face out of his head. Let him be upset. Let him think about what he’s done.

The others are waiting for James at the base of the docks. Elisa looks worried. The other two just look confused. They were newer to the crew.

“You okay?” Elisa quietly asks him while they walk together to the nearby tavern. “That looked awful.”

James nods. “I – I’m fine.”

She looks unconvinced. “If you say so. I’ve never seen him yell at you before.”

“He hasn’t before,” James agrees. They sit down together at a corner table, well out of the way of the evening bustle. “It – it was pretty awful. He’d better not do it again.”

“He’d better not. I’m glad you stuck up for yourself, though.” Elisa orders them something strong. Much stronger than James would usually go for but he doesn’t mind. Not tonight. “The Captain could use someone to yell back once in a while, and it sure as hell ain’t going to be me.”

James cracks a smile at that. “I’m not much of a yeller, but I’ll try to keep him civil.”

Elisa laughs. “I’ll toast to that.”

The group passes a lovely evening at the tavern. It’s a smaller one, not packed full of pirates and sailors and lowlife like the ones down the block are. It is a rare occasion that they’re able to comfortably socialize like this. Despite James’ earlier promise to Jacques, it’s more than three hours before they return to the ship.

When they return, Jacques is pacing on deck. The others smartly peel away and slip belowdecks.

Jacques’ hair is a mess, pulled from its usual struggling ponytail and partially covering his face. He looks a mixture of furious, upset, and worried. His fists are clenched and shaking.

He whirls when he sees James. “Where the fuck have you been?” he snaps. “You’re late.”

James keeps his face stony. Jacques is acting like a child having a tantrum and he’s not going to indulge his antics. He doesn’t say a word. Keeps his chin up and walks past Jacques into his cabin.

“You said an hour and it’s been fucking _ages,_ James.” Jacques has the audacity to follow him in, slamming the door behind him. “I got worried.”

Good for him. James keeps his head turned away and takes off his coat, hat, and shoes.

“James, please. Just talk to me, darling, _please…”_ Jacques is starting to dial up his pathetic attitude. But still not smart enough to formulate an apology.

“Begging will do nothing for you,” James whispers, almost to himself. “I don’t hear an apology.”

Jacques is silent for a long minute. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

James huffs a bitter laugh. That was the least emotional, least heartfelt apology he’s ever heard.

“No, James, please I’m sorry, I really am sorry, James sweetheart-”

“Out.” James still doesn’t turn his head. He points at the door. “Out.”

“James-”

 _“Now,_ Jacques.”

There is a long silence. Jacques makes a small upset noise. The door slams shut behind him and James is alone.

His composure breaks. He curls up under the covers of his plush bed and cries himself to sleep.

* * *

The morning is no better. Jacques is off the ship for most of the day doing business. He comes back in a foul mood with blood under his fingernails and murder in his eyes. Apparently business did not go well.

They have one more day in port before they will be leaving to escort a smuggling ship across a large gulf. They’ll be out on the water for a week. That will be a horribly miserable week if Jacques and James are still fighting, but James doesn’t care. He’s not going to give in until Jacques properly apologizes and he does not care how long it takes.

Jacques’ mood only worsens the longer that James keeps up his silent treatment. He gets into another fight onshore and comes back that night bloody and bitter. Smelling vaguely of smoke and James receives the news the next morning that a Navy warehouse had burned down last night.

His tantrum finally ends that morning. They were to leave that afternoon for their job and James was spending his day double-checking their supply roster and financial reports. While they were in port, he didn’t have much navigation work to do so this math helped him stay busy and keep his thoughts from the awful fight he’s having with his lover.

Speaking of, there’s a knock at the door. Jacques pokes his head in.

“I’d like to speak to you,” he quietly says. His voice is quietly upset. “I’d like to apologize, James. If it’s okay. Whatever you want. Whenever you want.”

“You may come in,” James allows. “I’ll listen.”

Jacques slips inside the room, closing the door behind him and staying at a distance. Arms folded, shoulders defensive. “I’m sorry,” he immediately blurts. “I’m so sorry, James. I’ve been such an asshole and you don’t deserve it and I can’t even fucking believe that I yelled at you like that. I’m sorry for yelling at you, James darling. I – I’m sorry for trying to be a controlling idiot.”

He falls silent, uncomfortably keeping his eyes down. James waits for more, knowing that Jacques has already gotten a great start to his apology.

“I – I promise to make it up to you. I’ll do anything to make you happy, James, _anything.”_ Jacques risks a glance up and James can see the naked adoration in his eyes. “It has been miserable to see you so sad and knowing that I caused it and knowing that now I have to fix it. I’ll fix it, James, just give me another chance and I promise I will never act like I did before. You don’t – I don’t…” He trails off. Clears his throat. “I don’t have the right to boss you around. I can’t tell you what to do.”

“That’s right.” James holds out his hand. Jacques’ apology has soothed his heart.

Jacques’ face brightens. He trots over and takes James’ hand, lavishing kisses over it up to his wrist, to his elbow. “I love you, I love you…”

James cracks a smile. “I love you too, dear. I forgive you, but you upset me greatly. I don’t – I don’t like fighting.”

“I know, I know and I’m sorry, James, I’m sorry for the yelling and I just want to kiss you and make you smile more…”

“You may kiss me.” James lets Jacques sit in his lap and kiss him gently. Jacques cards his fingers through James’ hair, careful not to tug. In his kissing, he’s careful not to bite, not even on James’ lip where he has the habit of nibbling. There is no roughness: even his hand on James’ hip under his shirt is gentle instead of possessive, sweet instead of impatient. His eyes still have an obsessive edge to them, his usual fire stoked into a passionate inferno only barely held back by Jacques’ restraint.

Eventually Jacques’ affections lose their patience and he aims only to please, his mouth done with apologies and only desiring to demonstrate his devotion.

James allows it: Jacques is passionate and borderline insatiable and this is how he shows love. He allows it even when his anxiety spikes that they might be caught, that one of the crew might walk in to see their captain on his knees with his head buried between James’ legs. James covers his own mouth as to not cry out, other hand fisted in Jacques’ matted mess of curly hair. Doubled over with his back arched because Jacques has apparently been practicing sticking things down his throat and now he’s too much, too much-

“I love you, James, I love you so much,” Jacques rasps when he’s done. He stands and kisses James like he normally does, hand fisted in James’ short neat hair. Other hand on James’ cheek wiping away a few tears. “I love you…”

The possessiveness is starting to fade back into his eyes, but James finds that he doesn’t mind right now. He just leans into Jacques’ touch, eyes fluttering and head spinning. Jacques is always too much and it makes his heart pound.

Eventually they have to part. James really does have calculations to finish and Jacques has crewmembers to lead.

“I’ll see you later,” Jacques mumbles into James’ cheek where he’s trying to snatch a few more kisses even as James complains and half-heartedly pushes him away. They can’t just make out all day. “I’ll have something special for you, James, I promise.”

“I’ll look forward to it. Now go, dear, your crew needs you.”

“They always fucking need me.” Jacques strokes James’ cheek one more time before finally leaving. A look back over his shoulder is sultry as can be but with just a hint of his hidden sweetness. But he leaves, gently closing the door behind him and leaving James to his mission preparation.


	8. Nervousness and Nightmares?

That night, Jacques gives him a gift from port: a pair of fleece-lined gloves to warm James’ hands during the cold ocean nights. It’s thoughtful and sweet. They spend most of the night together since the crew doesn’t desperately need Jacques during the night. James peacefully falls asleep with his head in Jacques’ lap, his lover’s fingers combing through his hair.

The job itself is uneventful: they’re starting to be able to retain crewmembers. That means more experienced hands. Less mistakes. Better morale.

Better morale means that Jacques feels the need to treat the crew upon their arrival in this medium-sized port city. Half of the crew remains on board while Jacques, James, and about a dozen others spend the evening at a local tavern.

It’s a mixed crowd: locals, pirates, and even some honest sailors. It’s bustling but not too rowdy, big enough that they can find a quiet corner where James won’t feel too overwhelmed by the noise and the people. Jacques stays with him the whole time, stroking his arm or his face whenever James looks a little anxious, whispering to him about something or another to keep him calm enough to enjoy himself.

But nothing can stop the spike of panic when a trio of Navy officers enter the tavern.

James must make a noise because Jacques is immediately frowning and sitting up straighter to properly look at James’ face. His mouth is moving like he’s talking-

“Just listen to me and just try to breathe, James,” he’s saying. Talking quietly because many tables have abruptly quieted at the Navy officers’ entrance, though many tables have elected to ignore them. The original volume of the room is starting to return. People want to just pretend like they’re not there, apparently.

James tries to focus on what his lover is saying but can’t. He feels like he’s going to pass out or throw up or shake into little tiny pieces. As if in a daze, he suddenly stands and fast-walks to the door, not even noticing when Jacques tries to grab his arm to stop him.

The cool night area only makes his shaking worse, adding freezing shivers to his anxious shudders.

“James, what’s wrong? James!” Jacques has to run to catch up to him. He puts an arm around James’ waist. “Shh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

James only shakes his head. He sniffles. His throat has closed up and words seem impossible. But he leans into Jacques’ touch.

Jacques frowns even deeper at the sight of James’ tears and obvious state of panicked shock. “Fuck. I’m going to get you home, okay?” At James’ nod, he scoops James up into a bridal carry and starts jogging back towards the ship. He maintains a quiet muttering, comforting nonsense that helps James not spiral any further.

While Jacques is carrying him, James buries his face into Jacques’ shoulder. But he catches an odd flash of movement in an alley they pass and raises his head, confused and still disoriented. But nothing is there. He lowers his head again but sees another glimpse of something ducking behind a pile of crates on the docks.

Is something…following them?

“Shh,” Jacques soothes at James’ confused noise. They’re nearly to the ship.

James keeps his head up but doesn’t see anything else move. The thinking does help calm his panic, though.

“I’m fine now,” he finally croaks when they get back to the ship.

Jacques, setting him on the bed and layering blankets and pillows around him, sighs. “No, you’re not fucking fine. I’m going to go fetch you some tea and then you can explain what got you into the worst panic attack that I’ve ever seen. Does that sound okay? Can you be without me for a few minutes?”

James nods. He waits until Jacques returns, fussing with his blankets in the meantime. He still feels freezing cold but is warming slowly. The cup of tea that Jacques brings is hot and sweet and calming and it starts to ease his nerves.

“James, darling.” Jacques sits on the bed next to him and wraps arms around his waist. He rubs his back. “Was it the Navy that panicked you?”

James closes his eyes and nods.

“Why? I can’t have you freezing up every time we come across those lobster fucks, James. Was it – was it because they had you locked up?”

James nods again.

“Why did they do that, sweetheart? Do you want to talk about it? You can talk about it with me,” Jacques coos.

James takes a big sip of his tea and sets it down with Jacques’ help to steady his trembling hands. “I – I was known in my town for being s-smart,” he stammers. “Everybody knew that I had just come home from university. A Navy ship had – had just docked and someone must have told them. They needed someone onboard to handle their financial work. Part Quartermaster, part accountant.”

Jacques rubs his back and coos some more. Deep in his throat like a demonic purr. James takes another sip of his tea and continues.

“I – I was terrified of travelling on the ocean,” he admits. “I didn’t like travelling at all, even on land. My university was only an hour or so by carriage from my town. Not too far. I refused when the captain asked. Politely refused, then had to refuse again and again because they just wouldn’t stop _asking.”_ He wipes away a few tears. “I – I guess they were done asking and – and they grabbed me one night on the way home from a friend’s house and – and they took me to their ship and left that night and – and I was so scared and I refused to do any work and – and-”

“Shh…” Jacques makes him drink some more tea to steady his nerves. “That’s awful.”

“It – it was. They – they kept trying to convince me but – but I’m not going to work for someone who kidnapped me so I just kept refusing and eventually they threw me into the brig to try to s-scare me into obedience and I was down there for – for weeks and they just kept _yelling_ at me!”

Jacques pulls him into his lap. “Well they’re all dead now and no Navy rat is _ever_ going to even _look_ at you again, do you hear me? You don’t have to worry about a single damn thing when you’re with me. Not while you’re on my ship and part of my crew.” He kisses James repeatedly on the cheeks, on the neck, on his forehead. “Nothing bad will ever happen to you. Not while I have something to say about it.”

His earnest promises ease the last bits of tension in James’ chest. He curls up in Jacques’ lap and enjoys his affection. Yawns widely.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” Jacques whispers. “I’ll tuck you in. I have to go check on our other crew. Make sure that nobody starts a bar fight.”

James contently hums and lets Jacques lay him down on the soft sheets, piling blankets and quilts on top of him. He easily falls asleep.

* * *

A noise makes him suddenly wake.

James jerks up to sitting and looks around, but the room is empty. In his sleep-fogged brain, he doesn’t remember what the noise was. A banging sound? A voice? A footstep?

The wind is whistling through the open window. The window wasn’t open when he went to bed, James blearily recalls. It must have blown open. He slips out of his warm bed cocoon and closes it. Double-checks the latch.

Maybe Jacques had poked his head in to check on him.

The night guard on deck turns when James opens the door and peeks out.

“Is the captain back yet?” James asks.

“No, not yet,” the guard responds.

“Th-Thank you.” James goes back inside and returns to his warm haven. Must have been the window opening that had awoken him. Or someone from a neighboring ship making a noise. He shrugs to himself and goes back to sleep.

* * *

The next few days at port, Jacques insists that James stay inside. He’s dealing with a rogue werewolf pack in port and doesn’t want James to get caught up in it. It’s rare that they get land jobs but they are usually more reliable than sea ones.

James is irked at Jacques’ over-protectiveness but reluctantly agrees to stay onboard unless accompanied by Jacques himself. He’s not a fighter and doesn’t want to get hurt.

He spends his time verifying all of the little logistical details that need to be verified onboard a vessel this size. Supplies, munitions, food stores. He arranges new crew member interviews per Jacques’ approval. That keeps him busy for the week that they are in port.

Though James knows he isn’t in any danger while still onboard the ship, he still feels on edge. The hairs on his neck keep standing on end. He feels watched but can never find anyone watching him. Keeps looking over his shoulder to see nothing.

The next night, he suddenly awakens again to a noise. This one sounded like a footstep. Maybe a person breathing. The window is open again. James could have _sworn_ that he had closed it: the night gets freezing here. This window wasn’t even big enough to fit a person through, except for perhaps an extremely small child. Jacques isn’t here again: this werewolf job was making him stay out all night.

The next night it happens again. James checks the window latch the following evening. It’s secure.

But he wakes again to find it open.

Something isn’t right. James begs Jacques to stay onboard that night, even for just a few hours. Jacques sighs but agrees: he can tell that James hasn’t been sleeping well.

“I’ll be down in the hold organizing and making room for our next job’s cargo,” he says. “Good night, James.”

“Good night, J-Jacques. I – I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I want you to sleep well. I won’t come in: I don’t want to unnecessarily wake you up.” Jacques turns away but not before giving James an extremely worried look.

Somehow, James manages to fall asleep. Jacques has left his coat with him and James curls around it, letting the residual warmth and scent calm him into a deep slumber.

The feeling of a hand touching his face rouses him. Just Jacques, he thinks. But then he takes in more of the feeling. The hand is too soft, too cold. The scent of the person is unfamiliar, too: Jacques tends to trail a sulfuric smoky scent and this person smells cleaner.

Not Jacques. Someone is in his room and touching his face and it’s not Jacques-

James fully awakens and screams at the top of his lungs.

The person, whoever they are, bolts. The small window slams shut mere seconds before Jacques bursts into the room, pistol drawn and eyes wild.

Seeing the completely empty room, he sighs and holsters his gun. “Just a nightmare or something,” he calls out to the rest of the crew. “Stand down.”

James shakes his head. He tumbles out of bed, tangled in his bedsheets and trembling too badly to untangle himself properly. He rushes to the window and opens it, sticking his head out and looking desperately for where the person went.

“James, James!” Jacques grabs him and pulls him away from the window. He gently closes it and drags James back to the bed, pushing slightly to get him to sit down and stay sitting. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay-”

“There was someone here,” James cries, squirming ineffectually against Jacques. “They were touching my face and they were standing over the bed and they – they were here, J-Jacques, I know there was someone!” He tries to catch his breath. “They went out the window!”

“Nobody can fit out that tiny window and you know it. Now just relax. Please. It was just a bad dream, James, I promise.”

“No it wasn’t, J-Jacques, it wasn’t!” James tears his hands out of Jacques’ comforting grip. “P-Please believe me, it wasn’t just a dream, there really was someone there!”

Jacques sighs. “Dreams can seem extremely real. I believe that you felt like someone was in here with you, but I am telling you that nobody can get in. Can you just trust me, James darling, please? It – it’s breaking my heart to see you all worked up like this.” He puts his forehead against James’. “Please, James, please. Trust me.”

James sobs but nods. He does trust Jacques. “It – it was _scary,”_ he cries.

“I know it was scary, I know,” Jacques coos. “But I’m here now, okay? I’ll stay here with you for the rest of the night.”

He rearranges them so that James is back under the covers, laying on top of Jacques who is cradling his shoulders and head.

Jacques strokes his hair and hums for several minutes before deeply sighing again. “There are doctors that we can go to when we get to a bigger port,” he whispers. “They can help with night terrors. Sleep paralysis, too, if this turns out to be that. Any kind of sleeping disorder – maybe it’s something wrong with your breathing.”

Now Jacques thinks that James is _sick._ He sniffles but nods.

“There are doctors who might be able to give you something to help you sleep. Or help you be less anxious.”

“We – we can try. I saw some when I was younger. They weren’t able to do much.”

“We can try,” Jacques agrees. “That’s all I ask. That you try. Now go to sleep, James, please. You need it.”

“I’m still worried,” James admits. He squirms so he can lay closer to Jacques. “I don’t know if I can fall asleep.”

Jacques sighs again. In the lights from the harbor, he looks tired himself. Uncharacteristically worried. “I can use magic to make you sleep.” He plays with a piece of James’ hair that’s flopped over his face. “Will you let me do that?”

“Tonight.” James yawns. It’s remarkably respectful of Jacques to ask permission and not just do it. “Tonight, I need that. Thank you.”

Jacques sadly smiles. His hand flattens over James’ forehead. “Then good night, darling,” he whispers, and James immediately sleeps.

* * *

The following evening, Jacques has no choice but to go out to deal with his werewolf job. He apologizes profusely and promises to check on James when he returns.

“Put me to sleep again,” James begs. “Please, J-Jacques, please…”

“Just for tonight,” Jacques agrees. “I don’t want to start a bad habit. Magic like this can get addictive. I don’t want to do it too strongly, so it might not last all night.”

“That’s fine.” James lays back and lets Jacques magically knock him out again. His magic feels warm and soft and it comforts James to feel it. His slumber is deep.

Too deep...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers who have read lots of my older fanfic with these two may have a guess as to what's *actually* going on here... Are these really nightmares, or is something/someone stalking James?


	9. Sisters and Schemes

Jacques’ sleeping magic is strong, which is why it takes James so long to properly awaken.

He hears soft female voices. Must be a dream. The voices stop then resume, more quietly. There is the sensation of being held down, pressed down: sleep paralysis, no doubt. Except that there’s also an odd scent: some kind of oil or spice and that has no dream explanation.

James squirms, half-asleep, and tries to roll over. But he can’t move and he can’t sit up and it feels like he can’t breathe and now he’s panicking-

A hand clamps over his mouth when he opens it to scream. A strong arm wraps around him when he tries to sit up and now he’s fully awake, eyes open and straining in the dark to see a person sitting on top of him and another behind him holding him down-

“You said he was fully asleep!” The one on top of him hisses.

“Well _you_ said he was a light sleeper!” The other quietly responds.

“Well _you_ told me that Jacques put him to sleep magically so he wouldn’t wake up easily! Was he magicked or not, Lucy?”

Lucy, the one holding James down as he continues to struggle and scream, readjusts her grip to accommodate his squirming. “He _was,_ Harriett, I fucking swear he was.”

Harriett throws her hands up. “For fuck’s sake, he’s awake now. I’ve figured out what I needed to figure out anyways. He’s just a human. No magic.” She wipes her hands on her coat. Still sitting on top of James, she readjusts so she’s weighing him down even more, leaning down so she’s right up in his face.

Now that she’s closer and his eyes have adjusted, James can see that Harriett has a round freckled face, bright blue eyes, and stark white hair that is wound up in a chunk of braids and twists. Lucy, behind him, adjusts so that James is nearly sitting up, her arms still around him holding him still. She ducks her head to whisper something to Harriett and James can see the same chubby face, freckled cheeks, and blue eyes, though her hair is shorter, redder, and curlier, almost like-

-like Jacques’. The facial features, the eyes, and the terrifying demeanor are starting to all come together to make a picture that makes James start crying even though that’s the last thing he wants to do in front of – in front of Jacques’ sisters.

He hadn’t even known that Jacques _had_ family. He’s a demon so James hadn’t thought it a pertinent topic. Apparently Jacques had not thought it important to inform him of this either.

“Great, now he’s fucking _crying,”_ Harriett whispers. “What the fuck?”

“You’re scaring him,” Lucy admonishes.

“I didn’t even _do_ anything yet. He’s just _like_ that. We’d better make this quick.” She draws a knife from inside her jacket and holds it to James’ throat. “Don’t scream.” She nods to Lucy, who releases James’ mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you.” The cold smile that she gives, though, says otherwise.

James whimpers. “Wh-What do you w-want?” He whispers.

Harriett’s smile briefly drops. “What I want is for you to stop _corrupting_ my brother,” she hisses. That confirms James’ theory. “You are no good for him and you are _nothing_ compared to him. He deserves better. He deserves someone that is not a pathetic little human crybaby.” She leans in even more. The tip of the knife moves up to James’ cheek to trail across his tear-tracks.

James doesn’t dare move. He doesn’t even dare to breathe. His eyes are locked with Harriett’s furious ones and he can’t look away even though he can barely see her through his blurred vision. He just wants to wake up and have this all be a terrible nightmare, but he knows that he will have no such luck.

“You need to stop being with him,” Harriett quietly orders. “You need to end things and get off his ship while you still can. Get away from him before he hurts you. Or before he gets tired of you.” Her awful condescending smile comes back. “Which he will. Quickly. In a couple of years, he’ll realize that you’re just frail and destined to die and there’s no point, really, in continuing things. If you’re lucky, he’ll just abandon you at a port. Or he’ll just push you off the deck. That’s how he is, you know,” she continues to monologue. “He doesn’t care about you _that much._ My brother is cruel and cold-hearted and he does not care about anyone.”

Lucy props her chin on James’ shoulder. “Aw, Harriett, but Jacques said that he _loves_ him,” she mocks, imitating Jacques’ accent.

“Aw,” Harriett echoes. The knife slips away and her cold fingers replace it, pinching James’ cheek. “And you believed him, didn’t you?” When James doesn’t respond, she pinches harder. _“Didn’t you?”_

“He – he _does,_ though,” James tries to protest, knowing how pathetic it sounds.

Harriett pats his cheek. “And that’s why you need to get out while you still can. He’s so good at pretending. An excellent liar, really. We’re just trying to protect your delicate glass heart, James. We’re just trying to help.”

Lucy tuts. “We’re on your side, James. We want what’s best for our brother and we don’t want collateral damage.”

“Which is why you need to break up with him _immediately,”_ Harriett quietly orders, the steel returning to her eyes. “Or as soon as possible. It’ll be easy. He won’t really care. Oh, he might give a few cursory protests, but get past those and you’ll be gone with no issues. Do you understand, James?”

“Y-Yeah,” he sobs, panic and despair starting to return.

“Good. We’re scheduled for a rendezvous with Jacques’ ship in a month’s time. If you are still on that ship in a month, James, we are going to have to have this conversation again.” She leans in until her freezing cold blue eyes are mere inches from James’. “I hate repeating myself, James. Let’s hope that this will be the last time we talk to each other. If you are not gone in a month then we will have to help you get out of my brother’s life _for good.”_ She pauses. “Understand?”

“Y-Yes,” James repeats. A month. This – this is _awful._

“What a smart boy,” Lucy coos. “He didn’t even need convincing.”

Harriett sits back. “How smart,” she agrees. She glances at the window, where the sky is slowly beginning to lighten. “We’d better leave you to it, then.”

They leave James on the bed, blankets pooled around his waist. He doesn’t see them leave, but he does hear the window close. He keeps his head down and cries, his heaving sobs turning into childish wails as the reality of the situation starts to sink in. He clutches the blankets with shaking hands and wallows in his misery until he is tired and despondent and inconsolable.

Jacques comes back to this.

“Oh James,” is the first thing he says. There is a pause where he observes more, sees how bad it is. “Oh James, oh no, darling, what happened?”

He slowly approaches like one would approach a wounded animal. He lays a hand on James’ shoulder and James flinches, the sisters’ words too fresh in his mind.

“James, it’s okay, I’m here now,” Jacques tries to soothe. “It’s all over, you’re awake and I’m here. No, shh, shh, don’t – don’t, sweetheart, it’s okay. Don’t do that,” he desperately pleads as James starts to caterwaul, shrill bawling echoing in the small room. “James please, my love, please try to breathe, please, it’s going to be okay now…”

Jacques tries to grab him to offer physical support, but now his gentle touch hurts James and it only makes things worse and he’s starting to feel light-headed and sick and like nothing will ever get better-

“You’re going to make yourself ill,” Jacques argues. “Please, James. You – you need to breathe. You’re overwrought and hysterical and you’re going to literally make yourself ill if you don’t calm down at least a little. Just listen to my voice, okay?” His voice breaks as nothing he’s doing is working. “James, please. _Please.”_

What he’s doing is only making it worse because now James believes that he cares again and it hurts too much. He curls in on himself and screams, not caring how much that burns his throat, not caring about anything anymore because what’s even the point-

“That’s it, I’m knocking you out,” Jacques decides. “I – I’m sorry, James, I’m so sorry that I have to do this, but it’s for your own good. I’m sorry, James, I’m sorry-”

He touches James’ arm and he is conscious no more.

* * *

James wakes up and they’re at sea. The sun is high. They’d raised anchor and started their new delivery job.

There is a plate of food on the side table but his stomach protests at the mere thought of eating. His head spins when he sits up.

Even worse, his heart aches. A month to break up with Jacques, or else. What is he to do now?

Before he can spiral too far, the door opens and Jacques pokes his head in. “James?”

James only sighs in response, hiding his face in his curled-up knees. Call him naïve, call him deluded, but Jacques’ worried voice conveys only love. The way he kneels next to James and gently touches his shoulder, then his face, his blue eyes full of concern: there is no other explanation for these gestures than love. Sure, he could be pretending, but James has learned that Jacques is actually an _awful_ liar.

“How are you feeling?” Jacques softly asks.

James’ throat has closed up from a mixture of anxiety and affection. He wordlessly shakes his head.

“Not feeling well, are you? I thought so. You got so worked up. Worse than I’ve ever seen, darling.” Jacques takes James’ hand and kisses it. “Fuck, I was so worried about you. I love you, sweetheart, and I hate seeing you so upset.”

Despite his misgivings, James allows the affection. He even leans into Jacques’ embrace. It was selfish but he _needed_ it. It was stupid but he couldn’t _not_ believe it.

Jacques sits him for over an hour, coaxing and comforting and doing his best to soothe James’ residual anxiety and misery. He even cajoles him into eating a few bites of food and drinking some water.

All too soon, the sun starts to set. He must have been asleep all day and now it’s time to go to bed again.

“I don’t want your sleeping rhythm to get messed up,” Jacques says after he helps James change into a different sleep shirt and get all tucked in again. “This’ll only probably last six hours, maybe a little more. I’ll be here the whole time.”

James lets himself be tucked in, lets Jacques kiss him a few times, then once on the forehead, before Jacques’ hand goes for that spot to knock him out again.

“J-Jacques,” he whispers.

Jacques pauses. “Yes, darling? What do you need?”

James tears up. “I – I’m just going to die.”

“What?” Jacques’ hand retracts. He slowly blinks. “What – what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I – I’m just going to die in a few years!” James blurts. “What’s the point, J-Jacques, what – what’s the point in doing this?” He brushes off Jacques’ comforting hand. “You – you’re going to live forever and not age and I – I’m not going to make it that long!” He sniffles. “Stop wasting your time!”

Jacques looks like someone just hit him with a carriage. “Where the _fuck_ is this coming from?” He grabs his hair, thick red curls peeking through the gaps between his fingers. “James, what in the actual _fuck._ Are – are you _okay?_ Why do you keep talking about dying and me wasting my time on you?”

“I – I’m only human, Jacques! I’m not going to live that long and I probably won’t even live as long as I should because the world is dangerous and you’re going to have just wasted your time on me, Jacques, s-stop it!”

“No, _you_ stop it!” Jacques snaps. He looks even more confused and lost. “James, _stop_ talking like that, you – you’re kind of fucking scaring me-”

 _“You don’t even love me!”_ James screeches, useless to stop himself from getting all worked up again when he had promised himself he would stay calm for this awful task.

Jacques gasps and flinches as if James had slapped him. “What’s gotten into you? Why do you think that?”

James shakes his head and tries to hide his face, but Jacques grabs him to look into his eyes.

“No, why do you think that I don’t love you?” Jacques asks, more quietly and desperately. “James, of – of _course_ I love you. Don’t I show you that all the time? Every day? Every minute of every hour of – of every day I love you, James. Where is this doubt coming from? Where is this – this fucking _morbid_ attitude coming from?”

“I – I don’t know,” James cries. “I don’t know, J-Jacques!”

“Well, it needs to go the fuck _away._ You are properly scaring the shit out of me, sweetheart.” Jacques presses his forehead to James’. “Do you know why you’re not a waste of my time? Because I _love_ you. I love you so much that it hurts to be without you. It doesn’t matter that it’s going to hurt in the future because it is so fucking _wonderful_ now. You are my _everything,_ James, and I would rather have only five years with you than five hundred without you. Do you understand?”

James nods. The echo of Harriett is making his panic spike again because he is not going to be able to break up with Jacques at all and he doesn’t want to but he doesn’t know what he’s going to do in a month-

“Time for bed, I think,” Jacques comments when he realizes that there’s no calming James now. “I’ll be here.” He brushes a piece of hair from James’ forehead with an adoring yet melancholy smile. “I love you, James. Goodnight.”

“I – I love you,” James whimpers. He curls up with Jacques’ hand in his as Jacques puts him to sleep for the night.

* * *

He doesn’t have nightmares after that. They were never nightmares, he realizes. It was never sleep paralysis. It was always the sisters.

Jacques seems cheered at the change. He pampers James like only his own mother used to pamper him. It’s overwhelming but also so wonderful and James laps up the attention knowing that it could all be over so soon.

A week passes, then two. Then three and James is starting to panic.

He starts making up all kinds of excuses as to why he needs to not be on the ship anymore. He’s not built for the sea, he tries to argue. He gets seasick easily, he tries to lie, and even spends a few days trying to make himself throw up to “prove” it. He gets too cold on the ocean, he tries, but that only makes Jacques spoil him more, taking time to make an enchanted blanket with his demonic magic.

The one month mark approaches. The near-honeymoon-period they had is starting to go away as James starts panicking. Starts bringing up doubts again. Starts worrying Jacques again.

But none of it works. James briefly considers running away, but the port they’re at is _rough._ And if he tried, Jacques would just go after him and find him. Nothing works. Nothing would ever work: Jacques loves him that much and James feels the same intensity of feelings, as much as he tries to convince himself otherwise.

Nothing will work. He’ll just have to face the sisters again.


End file.
